I, Nash
by Annacat101
Summary: 'It shouldn't take this long' I mutter numbly as they drag me down the numerous flights of stairs. It's over a 20-story building, and they're walking so slowly. Shouldn't they have just shot me by now? A multi-chapter about the most forgettable character.
1. Chapter 1

Hey! This starts with Nash's first appearance in the comic "The Cobol Job", straight through the script of "The Big Under" and what happens after he is dragged offscreen in _Inception_ by the Cobol thugs.

If you hadn't read/watched any of those, I suggest you go to the Inceptionwikia and look them up, otherwise this won't make much sense.

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Cobb doesn't trust me. I see it in his eyes. He doesn't flinch when he looks at me, you don't stay alive in this business with your emotions broadcasting like that. He hardly even moves, it's more of a quiver; starting in his eyes and traveling through his body until his toes clench inside of leather shoes that none of us could have afforded in the real world.

I allow myself a small smirk at his annoyance, shifting it to a leer and a deliberate sideways flick of my eyes towards the pretty young secretary in Kaneda's office building. Cobb huffs, a small breath hardly more than sigh, but I know when he's pissed off. I've worked with him long enough.

When I couldn't make it as a job I turned my habit of people-watching into a hobby.

See, I wanted to be a forger, was one for a little while, actually. Trained by the American government as a regular architect for the military, I made myself into the best of the best, even when I wasn't. Having connections in high places is a smart idea, and being underestimated isn't always such tragedy. Soon enough I began dealing with the more, shall we say _interesting _jobs, and first that the joke called forgery was real.

It's a simple matter, at the basics. It all has to do with faith in yourself, to _know _the person and to _know _yourself so intimately that you _become_ the facade while still holding your own identity.

A little case of neurosis and OCD might help, but the most important part of all is to remember you are lying.

And of course I fail that part, a simple little extraction from a mob boss and the simple little role as his most loyal assistant and there I go shooting up my dear old comrades while they bust into my "boss's" personal safe. Safe to say, we failed miserably, and I ended up with a bullet in my gut and a knife yanked across my throat as I shifted back into my real body from the pain.

I got hell for that, later, both from my co-workers and my employers.

Fuckers deserved it, anyway. Fucking fags tried to cheat me of my pay.

So there I go, on the run from the government, pals with all the worst little extractors who pissed off the wrong guy and work for pennies stealing secrets you could get from Google, when my knight in shining armor and his little boy-toy come to rescue me and bring me to the Big Leagues.

Arthur and Cobb, the two best extractors, having to rely on me.

They couldn't do without me, though, not many skilled architects work on the other side of the fence. I might not be the best, hell, I know I'm not, and I see details easier on people than on buildings, but I do a pretty decent job with everything else. They have no reason to complain.

Except for that fact that even _I _wouldn't trust me, but really, we all have the same motives here, right? Once those goals differ, however...

Cobb and a couple Cobol thugs stride in, the latter few glancing around furtively, as if even in dreams they haven't visited such a high-class area. Cobb looks completely at home in a posh suit and gelled back hair, I'm not surprised. He glances towards me for information on our situation.

'_The natives are getting restless_'

Cobb stiffens at my harmless remark. I wonder which 'native' here has plucked at his little heart-strings already? I don't pry, whatever lies behind his icy blue eyes scares the shit out of me. Honestly, what the Hell happened to him? Poor Arthur, he'll have to deal with the fallout when Cobb breaks.

I'll be long gone by then.

But, _damn, _that receptionist is fine. Too bad she's just a projection, I'd definitely do her in the real world. Hell, maybe here. I'd even say she's checking me out, but the subject's a paranoid, so it probably has more to do with the fact that I'm the dreamer in Mr. Kaneda's worst nightmare than any physical characteristics.

I'd thought about making myself slightly more handsome, a small forgery, but figured that was a bit too gay, and did I _really _want to impress the Cobol thugs and a few projections? More important things to worry about.

Ah, there's the signal, I race towards the exit with my heart beating slower than it did when I was flirting with little old 'sweet pea' secretary. She didn't seem all that shocked when I called her that. Pansy ass Kaneda probably likes that sort of thing. My shoes slip upon the polished floor and I yank on the handle of the maintenance door in order to regain my balance. I glance around quickly to see if anyone had seen, not that I cared about the embarrassment, but more about the fact I didn't want any projections following me in.

The maintenance door is a neat little trick, a paradox in which you appear to go in a straight corridor while ascending multiple levels. Arthur helped, perhaps he's not the most imaginative sort but he _is_ efficient and logical. Can fix any problem, even if the solution's not too inspired. Most people don't give him enough credit for that. It's a pity, really.

I'm still thinking about Arthur when the glass shatters and a dark shadow looms above me.


	2. Chapter 2

It was stupid, and slightly ironic that 'sweet pea' did me in. Shouldn't have put that ax there.

I faked sleep until Cobb awoke. He'd take the heat that was rightfully his. The men are pissed, but business carries on as usual: Cobb fucks up, Arthur tries to save him and I don't give a damn. When I try to placate them, '_You got no issues with me, fellas. I hardly know the guys_' they ignore me.

Fuckers.

Arthur yells out '_It wasn't in there?_', and I start paying attention at that point. Stupid, no time for self-pity when guns are waved around by pissed-off thugs. A few curt words from their boss sends them on their merry way. I smirk, now that I can get out of here...

'_I assure you it isn't our company's policy to accept failure. Not lightly_' The threat it made directly at Cobb, and to my dear extractor's credit he doesn't even blink. I have to stop underestimating Cobb. He might be insane, but he's still the best extractor in the business. But he'll fall, eventually. Crash and burn; tumble down and never get back up.

Here's hoping he doesn't drag me down with him.

Cobb leaps for his totem, I've heard there's a story about it. Something about it was someone's before him, word gets around in these circles. Maybe that chick he murdered, back in the States. It's Arthur's job to know shit like that, I only study the here and now, not the past. My history isn't pristine and I don't expect different from a fellow rogue.

We're alone now. Arthur speaks, quickly and awkwardly filling up the silence in the wake of the Cobol boss's threat, '_Extracting Saito's secrets won't be easy_'. Cobb ignores him, as per usual. '_Every mind has a way in, we'll find his,_' Honestly, why do we even have a Point Man if we just keep ignoring his advice?

Damn, at this rate they'll have forgotten me already. '_The way I look at it, I got nothing to lose_.' It's an offer, plain and simple.

'_We pull this idea out of Saito's head, I get paid_.' Oh, how I love this. Arthur's about ready to burst a blood vessel and Cobb's eyes are scrunching up.

'_We blow it, well, let's be honest-_' Cobb flinches, _score! _Figured I'd have to strike a low blow in order to make him move. It's all a game, really, and I've laid my cards on the table. Told him to his face that I don't give a shit about him. Pretty sure the feeling's mutual.

I smile. I know he's watching. "_You're the one on the hook, Cobb_"

* * *

Arthur slows down to walk beside me as we leave the dirty warehouse. It's a dark alley and I'm not scared at all.

'_You won't sell us out_' Arthur growls, trapping me against the wall. He might be skinny but he sure is damn tall. I have to crane my neck to look him in the eye. Not exactly my best attempt at intimidation.

Well, if I can't growl back...

I laugh, '_Now, why would you think that?_' Let's see you top that, fag.

'_I know what kind of person you are. If you hurt Cobb or myself I'll kill you. Understand?_' Arthur's voice is cold, his suit is wrinkled from the Cobol thugs and the bags under his eyes are even more pronounced. His breath floods my nose with the scent of coffee and mints and I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid I'm not afraid I'm not afr-

He drops me with a heavy thud that echoes dully in the alley. He stalks away, the stomps fading into the normal, stick-up-his-ass stride it always is. By tomorrow we will act as if nothing had happened, and there will be no further discussion. Arthur knows he hasn't frightened me, just as I know he isn't kidding. But he can't do without me, not if our double level dream is to work. He can't harm me, I hold all the cards now, and I don't think about how without Arthur and Cobb I would be nothing.

I reach into my pocket and yank out a tiny case, flipping it open with a noticeable "click" and pulling out the tarnished silver instrument.

I run my fingers up and down the harmonica, the tiny holes almost begging to be played. I lift it up to my lips and hesitate. I'm more scared than I was with Arthur. I inhale a large breath that leaves me coughing, damn allergies, and take another and **_blow-_**

Nothing, I smirk. A big, fat, nothing. Not even a peep. My totem is a harmonica whose center is filled with the lightest plastic. It _weighs _the same as any harmonica, but in dreams it will make music when I blow. Ingenious, if I do say so myself.

I get up almost leisurely and dust off the last remnants of the dirty Japanese alley. I flip the bird to Cobol's warehouse and begin the long walk to our motel.

I'm almost glad that Arthur left me behind, I sure as hell wasn't going to check my totem in front of Arthur and Cobb. Cobb might feel safe enough to show that much of himself in public but I like to stay behind masks. Let them think I know _exactly _what is reality and what isn't.


	3. Chapter 3

Hey! So if you're Citrus Wars, or someone else who just came stumbling across my story, then that means you haven't read _Voldemort's Spawn_ amazing story called "Letters to the Editor". She mentioned (quite heavily) this story in Nash's letter (all the characters write letters about the fanbase). She has his voice down **perfectly** (at least my version of it) and I beg to you read hers.

If you came from there, following her not-so subtle-hints, then I hope this is what you were looking for when you read hers!

And if you're Voldemort's Spawn, my favorite reviewer and author of all time, know that I am eternally grateful and am in awe of your writing once more.

* * *

The happy trio have reconvened! Arthur's just finished gathering intel on Saito, as well as looking over my designs for the last layer. Cobb has discussed the ideas and extraction methods with us, but being unable to act as either the dreamer or the architect, he's rather useless. I, however, have been working my ass generating the layout but not the details of the first layer. Arthur keeps second-guessing my every move, and forcing me to explain _all _of it to him. Boring as hell. I take back all the nice things I said about his efficiency and practical ideas.

Arthur pops out a giant folder from seemingly nowhere and begins reciting. _He _would have made a joke about that, considering how Arthur always acts like there's something up his ass.

'_Big deal_' I groan. Arthur's eyelid twitches; either his contact misaligned, or I'm more annoying than usual. Considering I've only said two words, the latter would be quite an accomplishment.

He lectures me, completely unaware that I stopped listening after the first indignant huff he made as he stepped past Cobb. I know how bad it is that Saito is a regular at the dreamcade. Fucking lucid dreamers. Always making things difficult.

Cobb pulls out some more folders as Arthur finishes his tirade, the laminated edge of a photograph peeks out of one and I know what's coming.

But, _damn_, if Saito isn't one lucky dog. Sonia's a pretty one, and she must be really in love with Saito if she'd wear the red cocktail dress he bought for her in front of her husband. I wonder if the feelings are mutual.

'_So, we're going to build his love nest_' Wonder what kind of 'love nest' he has. Probably some cheap dump, since he doesn't want to get caught. I would've done the same in his place, but considering all the love I've ever gotten I've had to pay $30 bucks an hour for, I don't know from personal experience.

But hell, if true love means flying half-way around the world the fuck in some abandoned dump or destroying yourself from the inside out once you've lost it, then sign me out. Give me a pretty girl in a bar any day, I'd rather risk a nasty disease than a broken heart.

Cobb jolts me out of my self-pity party, '_Pack your bags, Nash, we're going to Venezuela,_' My nose twitches as I hold back a sneer. Why not Arthur?

Probably never unpacked his bags in the first place. Paranoid little fucker.

Customs is laughably simple. A false passport with a false smile that I can replicate even in the real world helps me breeze by. Arthur, for all his vaunted perfection, is held back due to his suspicious clothing coupled with the illegitimate but flawlessly forged permission slip for carrying firearms. I don't tease him, but he huffs, aware of my unsaid, light-hearted derision as he smoothes out his suit and hair after the airport officials did a "partial" strip search.

Governments are so paranoid, I think as I pop six motion-sickness pills, four more than the prescribed dosage, and smile happily at the back of Cobb's chair as we take off.

I hate planes, absolutely positively loathe them, I giggle to myself. Any moment something could go wrong, a piece of machinery could snap or short-circuit and I would have no control over it. I am at the mercy of a force I cannot bribe, trick, or kill, and I can't stand it. Cannot-fucking-stand-it. Fuck fuck fuckerfuck.

I'm jittery, bouncing in my seat and though I put on my best puppy-dog face the pretty flight attendant _still _won't give me any alcohol until we reach a level alit-, altid-. Height. I can't think straight, but then I remember that's the point of the pills, and stop trying to concentrate so hard.

Damn, I really want to kick Cobb's chair. Too far away, since we're in first class. But the temptation's still there.

Arthur feels the same way. Not the kicking-chair, wanting-to-laugh-hysterically-from-too-many-pills kind of way, but he hates not having any control as well. Not sure if it's such a compliment towards myself to share a trait with the old stick-in-the-mud, but I guess he's not so bad.

Arthur's nickname, plus some slight turbulence and the combination of pills and no food, cause my stomach to lurch and bile to swim up my throat. I don't even want to think _his_ name.

Damn forger. Stealing my job and my subordinates right from underneath me with a smug smirk on a face too handsome for the devil that lurks beneath. I'm honest with myself. I loathe him the way- I loathe him the way an acne-ridden nerd girl would hate the prettiest and most popular cheerleader. I stop myself before I can imagine Eam- _him _waving pom-poms and singing.

Damn pills.


	4. Chapter 4

I swear, if Arthur makes one more quip about me tripping over my bags and face-planting in the middle of the airport he'll be eating my fist. How the hell was I supposed to know the pills wouldn't wear off until _two _hours after we landed? Those things are great when you're flying, but trying to walk or drive... Everything spun, damn taxi driver was hitting all the bumps, just to watch me suffer.

The pills are a real pain-in-the-ass afterwards, but it's worth it. I hardly remember any of the plane trip, especially the landing.

Though I do wish I could have remembered Arthur's face once he got back from customs check. There was something about him being flustered over what the officers did...

After my third cup of coffee I manage to stand for more than a few seconds without swaying about like some drunkard at 10 o'clock in the morning. Arthur's busy checking into our hotel, a five star Hilton, best thing I've stayed in since the government fired me. Best part of it all is that Cobol's paying for everything. I'm going to order room service for every meal, serve the little fuckers right.

It's the little things that count in life.

I swig down my fourth cup and prove to Arthur that I _can _walk across the room and I _can _load a gun in case I get mugged. He finally gives me the room key and directions to the car rental.

I go alone. Cobb's probably safe in Venezuela but it's no good taking chances. One person recognizes him and there she blows.

Speaking of blowing, those were some hot chicks shaking their asses as they washed some old man's car. I pick out the dirtiest car, an SUV as it happens, and drive over to their car wash before the ink is dry on my rental papers. A woman rolls her hips and I ask if the goods are clean, she smiles with teeth yellowed from smoke and nods, murmuring unintelligently in Spanish.

"_What name?_" She frowns in English as I don't respond to her babbling.

Oh well, good for a laugh. "_Arthur_".

The passenger seat is covered in glitter from her top and fake fur from her skirt as she sensuously exits the car, eliciting wolf-whistles from a few men selling fruit at a make-shift stand. Can't wait to see what the Arthur will do once he sees it. Go all OCD on me, probably.

The sex is unmemorable, for me and most likely for her as well. I don't really give a damn about what she thinks of me, a whore with make-up that slithers down her cheeks in rivers as she rises up and down above me. Her moans are loud and obnoxious, her mouth twisting into an unattractive grimace as she reaches her "climax", coincidently at the same time as I do. I push her off once I'm finished, none too gently, and rise to pick up the clothes I'd thrown to the corner of the room.

What? Think I'd fold them first? No, that's just Arthur.

Her eyes are hard now, the only thing about her that is. Every inch of her is soft and shapeless, no lines or defining features. Just a sack of painted flesh. I hand her the money with a sneer as she rubs herself beneath her faux skirt.

She can go fuck herself for pleasure, I'm not paying to make _her _feel good.

The fur has congealed in the Venezuelan sun, glue encrusting the passenger seat with tufts of pink and purple. I waste another twenty minutes, longer than it took to pick up and fuck the whore, to grab some paper towels and clean it up

Cobb is furious at my missing our meeting time, but he would have bitched if I'd left the mess on his seat, and we still have a half an hour before Saito's fuck-toy, Sonia, arrives with her husband. He's a government official, she's the daughter of a stock broker. Heard her father went through some bad times when the stock market fell a few months back, wouldn't be surprised if she wanted Tall, Dark, and Uniformed for the money.

Okay, Sonia must definitely have married him for cash, that was one frigid hug she gave to her dear old hubbie. I am definitely more interested in the opposite sex but I know a handsome mug when I see one. He must be a real bastard behind closed doors to get her to leave him for another.

Arthur's off researching her schedule or something like that, it's only me and Cobb and I'm so glad that I packed my allergy pills because _damn _is there a lot of dust in this warehouse. Cobb offers me the binoculars and I accept them wordlessly.

Motherfu-

That's a lot of guards.

Why would she have so many guards? Fuck.

'_You want my advice?_' Of course you don't, Cobb. '_We go to Saito and blackmail him._' Hardly your style. More efficient, but the sense of morality is nil. '_Tell him he pays us double what Cobol's paying us or else we spill the beans on the affair_.' Assuming he doesn't try to kill us. And Cobol would be pissed, too, '_That'll be helluva lot easier than getting to her_.'

But, fuck it, all jobs have risks.


	5. Chapter 5

Nash would like to thank Ethie and Voldemort's Spawn, because without the latter, this story would never have gone past the first chapter and without the former said story's latest chapter would still be below the 1000 word mark...

Speaking of marks, we've past the half-limit mark on the number of chapters I've written (as the story goes until Nash gets dragged away by Cobol and what happens after), unfortunately I don't know what the "what happens after" will be. So if ya got any suggestions (Nash would rather not die, but that's just him, I'm down with whatever) please let me know.

* * *

Churches, in my opinion, are over-used in dream scenarios. And the stain-glass windows are a bitch to design.

Sonia is confessing her sins to a projection of a priest. Wonder if he'll forgive her, since that'll mean she subconsciously forgives herself? Does she think her transgression with Saito is right, or wrong? Cobb pushes me away before I can hear his answer. I glare at him.

He glares back and shoos me away. He can't have her associating us inside the dream.

My job to steal her purse, run around, and hand it to Cobb; since that'll be where she'll keep her secrets. I briefly fumble for my inhaler, before remembering that I used to be a forger and my breathing suddenly evens out like some Olympian runner's. It's harder to forge an internal organ than an appearance, but I've had practice.

The purse strap stings my palm as I yank it from her grip and for a brief moment her nails, colored red like dried blood, scrabble across my wrist.

Fuck, why do _I _have to play distraction? Damn Arthur. He's faster than me, '_I have to continue to collect information on Saito, and__ you're a better thief,_' he said, smirking. Fucker just wanted me to get ripped apart.

Her dream-self owns one ugly purse, I note half-hysterically as I yell for Cobb. It's different from the one in real life, lumpy and stained instead of pristine leather. She must think at least part of her affair with Saito is immoral. I rifle through the contents briefly: her digital camera is on and a picture of her and Saito stands out proudly. I dig deeper.

Why the hell would she carry a gun? Isn't it just easier to smash the camera if she has to? Whatever, I don't care. I drop the purse without stopping while Cobb screams for the projections to follow me.

I lurch away from a business man, his blunt nails trying to dig into my skin. I'm tired, throat itching and legs aching but they just keep on coming, hundreds and thousands of the little fuckers. Cobb must have had enough time to extract the information by now.

'_Fuck it all!_' I scream, a pretty redhead throws a knife at me and slices across my shoulder as I leap off the bridge. The water closes around my head like warm bath water. I take a deep breath and try not to cough on the hot air that invades my lungs.

Cobb is still down in the dream. I take a moment to compose myself. It's not the dying, I'm used to that by now, but spas aren't really conducive to a nice coat and tie. I smirk as the true reason Arthur backed out is revealed. The fag spends way too much time on his clothes.

Sonia twitches and releases a sound that can only be described as a moan. Her face, completely free of make-up, relaxes all at once and her eyes halt their frantic twitching in the familiar onset of true REM sleep. Her dark hair, a familiar shade after a few days in Venezuela, cascades around her face, free from it's thousands of layers of make-up. There are a few acne scars, I realize with a start as I move to brush a few strands of hair that fell over her face. Tiny bumps and ridges, hidden scars at the soft of her wrist as she moves to push my hand away. I wonder what Saito thinks of them, or if she ever let him see this side of her.

I wonder if she even knows that side exists.

Cobb slides awake, smoothly and without any sign of having been killed just a few moments before, and quickly packs away the PASIV device, shooting me a look of disdain. It's only as Cobb is paying off the spa attendant that I realize I had been staring at Sonia while I should have been cleaning up.

'_What can I say? She has nice tits_' I murmur to Cobb with the air of a co-conspirator. His grimace morphs into a full-on glare and he adjusts Sonia's robe from where it had slipped, completely without my assistance. I don't tell him it wasn't my fault. Better he think I am a lecher than a hopeless romantic.

We leave the still unconscious Sonia for her guards. Time to visit that love nest.

It's hot and damp, here in Venezuela. The cab drops us off a few block away from the place and Cobb strides forward, unaware or uncaring of the hateful, dark-skinned faces that stare at us from behind beat-up cars and broken down homes. A pimp is slapping a hooker, barely more than a girl, a few meters from where I stand and I scurry to Cobb's side and pretend I don't recognize the pink and purple fur skirt.

I almost fool myself.

* * *

The "love nest" is a dump, just as I had anticipated. The light plays softly through the grimy windows. I take careful note of it. Cobb is analyzing my every move, The room is dusty, but the bed has been recently moved, a few inches over to the right, as if jolted by some force. Sonia and Saito, together. I quickly turn to scan the floor as the image fills my head.

Hope Saito brought condoms, wonder how the press would react to _that _little baby's features. Venezuelan and Japanese: please give me head trauma so I never think of that again.

My toe hurts, seem to have stubbed it on the carpet while exploring the room, or maybe when I was banging my head against the wall. It's an ugly, ratty old thing. Cheap as the rest of this place, no doubt.


End file.
